Surviving
by sycophanticramblings
Summary: Beth fights her way to Terminus, traumatized, with only one word on her mind. "Daryl."
1. Surviving

**Author's note: _first walking dead fic. I don't own any of these characters. Reviews are welcome!_**

* * *

Maggie was carrying a basin of water from the well back towards camp when a mess of tangled blonde hair appeared in the distance. It gleamed in the sun, catching Maggie's eye, stealing the breath from her. The basin clambered to the ground. The wasted water left no impression on the brunette. She was already off and running. Heart hammering in her chest, Maggie sprinted until she was a few feet away from her younger sister. Beth was limping and covered in blood. Maggie couldn't tell if it was hers or not. She approached the young blonde cautiously. Beth's eyes were unfocussed. She had given Maggie no recognition. For one heart-stopping moment, Maggie thought she'd turned.

"Beth?" Maggie asked, now just one long stride apart from her.

Beth didn't say anything, but her eyes moved to meet Maggie's at the sound of her name. There were tearstains on her cheeks, cleaning a path from the patches of dried blood.

Maggie let out a cry. "Oh thank god your alive," she said, closing the gap between them and pulling her into a tight embrace.

Beth hung loosely in Maggie's arms, not reciprocating the hug.

"Beth?" Maggie asked, pulling back to hold her at arms length. She leaned in close, so their foreheads were almost touching. Beth blinked, but didn't say anything. Her eyes had returned to an unfocussed glaze, staring right through Maggie. She was shivering despite the heat of the late afternoon sun beating down on them.

Feeling panicked, Maggie wondered what could have happened to her little sister in the past two weeks. Horrible images flashed through her mind. Beth being taken and stuffed into a truck… strangers doing god knows what to her… and her escaping, somehow. Pride welled in Maggie; Beth had become so strong. But the pride was diminished by worry; she was clearly traumatized. And where had all that blood come from? What had happened to her little sister?

Beth was still shivering, so Maggie pulled off the poncho she was wearing and draped it on the blonde. The poncho was Daryl's originally; it barely fit Maggie and absolutely swam on Beth. It went down to her mid-thigh and her hands barely peaked out of the low armholes. It made her look so small and fragile. Maggie watched as Beth's fingers idly played with the new fabric. She had stopped shivering, a small win.

"Beth. Say something," Maggie pleaded, returning her arms to Beth's shoulders, worry wrought in her voice.

Slowly, Beth's eyes glanced down at the poncho and back up at Maggie. In a cracked voice, barely above a whisper, Beth finally opened her mouth to speak. Just one word. A question. A demand. "Daryl."

Maggie's arms dropped to her sides. She tried not to feel upset, but it was hard not to feel that she wasn't good enough for her sister. Still, if Daryl was who Beth needed to see, she would do anything to help. Furiously wiping away a tear that had escaped, Maggie nodded. "He's here. He's on a food run right now. Come on, I'll take you to camp."

Maggie grabbed Beth's arm and lead her towards Terminus. Beth limped along. Maggie remembered when she first arrived at Terminus. It was a vast building, her eyes had raked over every window, every garden. And she ran through the halls to explore every room. Beth stared straight ahead. She was not curious. She was somewhere far away, in some dark corner of her mind. Maggie prayed Daryl would be able to pull her out of it.

Daryl was always the first to volunteer to go on runs. Ever since he arrived two weeks ago with Joe's group. Maggie shuttered, remembering the confrontation between Joe and Rick. Remembering how Daryl "claimed" their group to stop the fighting. Joe and his group were gone by sunrise the next day, leaving Daryl with a black eye and some cracked ribs.

Since then, he went out every day. He would come back with a few squirrels each night. A good haul, but he still always looked disappointed. He never said so, but Maggie knew he was tracking Beth. Looking for any sign of where she could have gone. She saw the guilt etched on his face, worsening each day Beth was gone. He was probably out looking for her now, trying to make good on his promise to Maggie that he would save her sister.

"She was with me and I lost her," he told her the first night he arrived at Terminus, "but I'm gonna find 'er. I swear." He grew quiet by the end. It sounded more like a promise to himself.

It didn't take them long to get to camp. Even with the limp, Beth kept up with Maggie's pace. Once inside, Maggie led her to one of the bedrooms. Thankfully, they didn't run into anyone else inside. Maggie couldn't wait to tell everyone Beth was alive, but she didn't think Beth could handle being the center of attention right now.

"Wait here," Maggie told her, "Daryl will be back any minute." He always came back before sunset.

The breeze started picking up as the sun continued to lower in the sky. Daryl kicked the dirt beneath his boot, frustrated. This was the worst part of every day, when he had to give up tracking for the night. Every night that past, Beth felt further and further away.

And it was entirely his fault.

Swinging his crossbow over his back, Daryl began the walk back to camp. He hadn't gone far today, there was no reason to; he had nothing to go on. The blonde consumed his thoughts as he walked toward Terminus. That little firecracker of a woman set a spark to his life. Their time together kindled the spark into a small flame, a glowing light at the end of a tunnel of misery. And then she was taken and the flame was extinguished. He was back to a world of darkness, a world in which he thrived before Beth showed him the light. Daryl yearned for her presence, so badly it hurt. She made him better and he owed it to her to save her. He'd go out looking for her every damn day if he could just hold out hope that one day his searching would yield results. After all, she made him believe in the strength of having hope. But that hope was waning more and more each day. It made him feel weak and dejected.

Muscles aching, Daryl pulled his crossbow off his shoulder and left it in the weapons room at the main entrance to camp. Technically, they weren't supposed to keep weapons on them in camp. Daryl kept a knife hidden under his belt. He felt its sheath pressing against his hip.

He stretched and cracked his neck. From around the corner, he heard fast footsteps. Someone was running towards him.

"Daryl!" He heard Maggie call. She slid around the corner, nearly crashing into him. "She's here," she said, breathless, her chest heaving.

The brunette grabbed his arm and started pulling him down the hall she just came from. Daryl couldn't believe his ears. His heart was pounding in his chest as he allowed Maggie to lead him towards the bedrooms.

"…asked for you…been waitin'…" Maggie was talking but few of the words were registering with Daryl. Until she told him, "down there, first bedroom on the left." He broke out into an all out run.

Beth was here. Beth escaped. She survived. He wouldn't believe it until he saw her. With a shaking hand, Daryl reached out and pushed open the door to the bedroom forcefully.

The blonde standing in the middle of the room jumped at the sudden noise. Daryl looked her up and down. Alive. Alive and wearing his poncho. The sight of her wearing his clothes made something stir in Daryl, but he pushed it aside. He could have laughed at how large it was on her, but there was a lump in his throat that was preventing him from doing anything at all, for fear of all out sobbing.

Finally, their eyes met. The spark was back. Hell, it was more than a spark; it was a raging fire, making Daryl feel alive. For the first time since he lost her, Daryl felt really, fully alive. Beth mirrored his expression, eyes wildly alive.

She spoke first. "Daryl."

"Beth," he replied, wanting to reach out for her but holding his ground.

"I did it," she said. Her shaky voice was steadily growing in strength.

His brow furrowed quizzically.

"I fought. I survived," Beth said. Her eyes burned into his, her voice was strained with emotion. "I tracked this place down using what you taught me. You saved my life. So stop."

"Stop what?"

She took a tentative step closer to him. "I can see you blaming yourself for losing me. Don't. You saved me."

Daryl shook his head. He would never stop blaming himself. But her words broke something pent up in him, and a flood of relief overcame him. The relief to see her alive was enough to knock him to his knees. Instead, he leaned on the doorframe for support.

After a moment of silence, Daryl registered all the bloodstains. Questions began falling out of his mouth. "Are you hurt? What happened to you out there? Who took you? What did they do to you?"

By the last question, Daryl noticed Beth's eyes fell away from his. She stared at nothing, and, to Daryl's horror, a tear escaped from the corner of her eye. Leave it to him to say the worst possible thing and sent her into a post-traumatic break down.

"Beth," he said softly after a minute of her staring at the wall. "I'm sorry, I shouldn'ta-,"

Her eyes slowly looked up at him, another tear sliding down her face.

"Daryl," she breathed, as if she had forgotten he was there.

His name from her lips sounded like an invitation, and Daryl didn't have time to debate whether he wanted to risk it or not before his arms were wrapped around her waist. She inhaled sharply, surprised at the crushing hug. She wasted no time throwing her arms around his neck and pressing close to his chest. Her face was inches away from his neck, her tears wetting his shoulder. She took a few deep breaths against his skin, and he could feel her slowly begin to relax. He held onto her as if she was the only thing tethering him to life.

"So it's true," she whispered.

Her breath tickled Daryl's neck. The sensation made his heart beat erratically. "What is?" He asked, inwardly cursing himself for how strained his voice sounded.

"You did miss me while I was gone, Daryl Dixon. So much." Her voice sounded equally hoarse.

Daryl tightened his grips on her, burying his face into her shoulder; overwhelmed with a slew of emotions he never knew he was capable of feeling.

"And I'm never letting you leave me again," he told her, pulling her in closer, if that was even possible. He had never hugged someone like this before. For starters, he had never initiated a hug. He'd hardly ever reciprocated one. And now here he was, unable to let go of this beautiful blonde woman.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed Beth's arms had slipped away from his neck. She was fidgeting in the hug.

"Let me go," she squeaked, high-pitched, almost inaudibly. "Let me go, let me go," she repeated, over and over, growing in volume and strength until she was hitting him, hard, in the chest. He released her as quickly as possible, but her mind was somewhere else. Her eyes were streaked with tears, her face was manic, and she was screaming at him. "Let me go! Get away from me!" Her arms were flailing everywhere, sometimes catching him in the arm or the cheek.

"Beth!" He yelled, trying to bring her back to herself.

"Get away! Get away!" Her screams subsided to sobs as she fell to the floor.

She told him not to blame himself, but the gut wrenching feelings of guilt pierced into him. All he wanted was to reach out and hold her. To let her cry into his shoulder and tell her that he would never let anything bad happen to her ever again. But, painful as it was, he kept his distance.

Her sobs slowed to a whimper. Then, blinking a few times, her eyes darted around the room. It was like she was remembering where she was, that she was safe. They settled on Daryl, and, particularly, a scrape on his cheek that was trickling blood.

"Daryl," she gasped. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Her apology brought on another round of her tears. Daryl walked around to sit on the edge of the bed behind her.

"Don apologize," he told her. He wanted to reach his hand out and run his fingers through her blonde hair. He hated himself for even thinking that while she was such a mess on the floor. "Don ever apologize to me."

She swung her legs around so she could face him, her sitting on the floor and him on the bed. If anyone walked in from the door on the opposite wall, the scene could look a little less than innocent. So, using his forearms to lift himself off the bed, he lowered himself down to the floor with her and leaned his back against the metal frame of the bed. With one of his leg propped up at the knee and the other straight out, Beth fit comfortably between them, an arms length away from each other.

"It's just," she said, staring at the ground, "that's what he said to me. 'You're never leaving me. I won't let you.'"

More pangs of guilt settled in Daryl's stomach. He said the wrong thing. He always says the wrong thing.

"Beth," he groaned.

"I killed him."

He stopped himself from asking what he did to her. He didn't think he could bear to know. Instead he replied, "Good girl."

Beth looked up at him. Impulsively, he lifted his arm and leaned forward a bit, gently using his thumb to wipe away the tears under her eyes. The moisture allowed him to use his thumb to wipe away most of the blood on her face, as well.

She automatically flinched away from his touch, like he had burned her. His arm fell to his side. He felt rejected, though he knew he shouldn't.

Beth regained her composure quickly this time. She didn't start crying again. Instead, she stared at him, her head tilted a little to the side. She tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear and, in one fluid motion, reached her hand out to entwine it with Daryl's. Their eyes locked as Beth runs her thumb over his palm. It felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. Daryl had butterflies in his stomach like a horny pre-teen. He had never experienced butterflies before. The way her thumb flitted over his palm, so gently he could barely feel it, made him shiver. The eye contact was becoming overwhelming for him, so he turned his gaze to their interlocked fingers. Her hand was small in his. It looked so delicate. For a fleeting moment, he thought that if they could just stay right like this, the rest of the world would disappear and they would stay, safely, forever.

But the next moment, she pulled her hand away and reality set back in. Daryl tried not to be disappointed. He looked at her for an explanation, hoping he didn't do something else to scare her away. She was running her fingers over the bottom of the poncho. In an instant, she started pulling the poncho up to take it off.

"Whoa," he said, his voice shaking, "wh-what are you doin?" He grasped onto her arms to stop her undressing.

"It's yours, innit?" Beth asked, dropping the poncho back down when he grabbed her.

Of course she was just trying to give him his poncho back. He was equal parts relieved and disappointed. But he hid the disappointment well. He needed to screw his head back on straight; there were more important things to be thinking of than romance, especially when the romantic thoughts he was having involved a girl half his age who had just survived a traumatic near-death experience and killed a man.

Daryl shook his head. "Nah, you keep it. Looks better on you." He had never spoke truer words.

"It smells like you," she said.

"Oh. Sorry."

Beth laughed. "No, Daryl, it smells like you in a good way." It occurred to him that this was the first time he heard her laugh since he carried her into the kitchen at the funeral home. The sound awoke something in him he hadn't realized was gone. He felt, for the first time, the sense that everything was finally right. He basked in the amazing sound of her giggling. "It makes me feel safe. It smells like home." She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the poncho to her, a small smile still playing on her lips.

"You are home, now," he told her. "You should get some rest," Daryl said, noting by the chill in the room that the sun had long since dipped under the horizon. He moved to stand up, pulling his legs in to cross them.

"No!" She shouted, startling him. "Sorry, it's just… please don't leave? I don't want – I can't be alone."

"Do you want me to go find Maggie? She could stay with you tonight?"

"I don't want Maggie," Beth said. She scooted closer to him, her eyes burning into his. "I want you." She climbed onto his lap and leaned her head down on his chest, wrapping both of her arms around his waist. "Please stay?" She whispered.

He nodded and leaned his head down into her hair. His eyes fluttered shut. From the way she was seated on him, he couldn't leave even if he wanted to. And there was no part of him that wanted to leave. He was sure she would be able to feel the intense pounding of his heart, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

In no time at all, he heard Beth's breathing turn deep and even out to a slow pace. Carefully, he put one arm under her propped up knees and lifted her up to set her down on the bed. She stirred, but didn't open her eyes, when he pulled off her shoes and tucked the blankets around her. She looked so peaceful as she slept, like she had not just gone through hell. He admired her for a moment, brushing her hair out of her face and – after a momentary inward debate – kissing her quickly on the forehead.

The bed was large enough for both of them to fit comfortably. Still, Daryl grabbed the second pillow and set it on the floor, instead. He was used to sleeping on the floor, and with Beth sleeping safely in the bed slightly above him, he had a feeling he would get the best night sleep he'd had in awhile.

* * *

**Author's note:_ I could continue this fic, but it'll be AU after the finale tonight. Let me know what you think! _**


	2. Sway

**AN**: _**I decided to continue! Here goes nothing. I'm changing the rating to T. It might continue to go up in ratings, depending on how the story progresses! Again, reviews are appreciated!**_

_**From now on, chapters will be titled after songs I listen to while writing. The AN at the bottom will include the lyrics that stand out to me in light of what happens in the chapter.**_

* * *

It was still dark when Beth woke up. It was her fifteenth morning since she was taken at the funeral home. Fifteen days of wondering what had become of Daryl. How long had it been since the prison fell? At least a month. More. Over a month of worrying over the whereabouts of Maggie, Judith, and the rest of them. She was supposed to be the one who had hope, who believed in the goodness of humanity. Over the past fifteen days, that hope was slowly being suffocated. The last time she saw Daryl, he was being overrun by walkers. What if he hadn't made it? Beth tried to push those dark thoughts away, but they kept creeping back into her mind like poisonous vines, paralyzing her in fear, doubt, and heartbreak.

Her blue eyes stared up at the ceiling of her small room. She knew exactly why sleep evaded her. She never thought she'd see the day where she wished it were only walkers keeping her up. The pure dread she felt for the coming day sat in her stomach like a weight. Beth forced herself to think of the silver lining; tonight she could put her plan to escape in motion. Slowly, her gaze lowered to an antique wooden armoire on the far side of the room and the long white gown hanging from it.

Today was Beth's wedding day.

Funny, as a girl, she'd never imagined getting married a mere fifteen days after her fiancé abducted her. Then again, she never thought she would be marrying a a bible-thumping psychopath who claimed their love was "destiny" and "God's will."

Fishing under the covers, Beth's fingers found the pointed weapon she'd fashioned out of a loose jagged bedspring. A determined grin momentarily lit up her features. Today may be Beth's wedding day, but tonight was the night she would kill her husband and make her escape. She pushes the spring back down into the hole in the mattress. If she were going to kill him, the element of surprise would be crucial. So, for now, she had to play along. Her captor was deluded enough to believe she was looking forward to their impending nuptials. It was a necessary part of her plan. Once they were "married," she could attack him in the night, while he was sleeping.

Despite trying to avoid thinking about the step in between the wedding and falling asleep, her stomach churned. Beth remembered her father reading her bible verses as a child. Once, when it appeared in a verse, she asked him what the word "consummate" meant; she didn't understand why he got so flustered. Her heart palpitated uncomfortably at the word now.

Beth took a deep breath to calm down. It wasn't like it would be her first time. She'd done it with Jimmy a handful of times. Before the apocalypse, she'd had friends who had a very cavalier attitude towards sex. They did it all the time with people they hardly even liked, just because they could. It didn't have to be a big deal. It wouldn't be a big deal. And the sooner it was over the sooner she could escape. When the time came, she would tell herself to just do it, like a Band-Aid.

Sure, she was lying to herself. But imagining she would be able to get it over with quickly and not worry about it again comforted her enough that she was able to doze back off.

In what felt like no time at all, her kidnapper knocked lightly on the door. Beth rubbed sleep out of her eyes and took a deep breath, mentally preparing herself for her performance.

"Are you decent?" He called to her.

Beth buttoned up the dirty yellow polo to the top button and pulled her hair out of its ponytail so it cascaded around her shoulders and down her back. Finally, she pulled on a white sweater he had given her. Those were the rules: no skin showing below the neck, hair down and natural. "Yes," She replied brightly, a fake smile plastered to her face, "come in!"

The man was ridiculously blonde for being in his forties. He was by no means handsome, however he was not horribly unattractive. He was tall, thin, and somehow had remained clean-shaven, but sported a hooknose and stringy blonde bangs. Before all this, she would have given him no notice. He would have been one of those strangers she passed on the street as if he were invisible. Now she knew that if she survived this, he would always be the man in her nightmares, the face of the devil.

Just like every morning, he set down a basin of water before handing her a small portion of mildly stale nondescript food. She wasn't even sure what it was. Still, she always accepted. Then, with the food sitting on the bed, they each went to opposite sides of the bed to kneel and pray. He blessed the meal sitting between them while his hands were wrapped, viselike, around hers. He asked God to bless their marriage. He asked God to help Beth be a loving and devoted wife. Amen.

Then they ate. Beth always initiated polite conversations. She had to make him believe she loved him. "Thank you for this meal, sweetheart. It is delicious." He never appeared to tire of her praises, so she kept delivering, despite more and more bile building up in her throat with each word.

After breakfast was her least favorite time of the day. That was when she had to tend to him. Not sexually, no, that would be a sin before they made their wedding vows. What she had to do, though, was equally repulsive. He pulled out the now all too familiar basin of water and sat down on the side of the bed, setting his feet in the basin. Beth forced herself to smile at him as she got down on her knees and, using the rag at the bottom of the basin, began to wash his feet. Once both feet were cleaned and dried, he waited, toes tapping on the ground, until she bent over and kissed each foot. Every day, Beth breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth throughout the whole process, for fear of vomiting on him.

After the feet rinsing ritual, Beth sat in sit in front of him while he ran his fingers through her blonde hair, carefully removing each knot. The feeling of his hands in her hair made her toes curl. But at least with her back to him her expression could reflect how miserable she was. The last of their morning rituals required her to focus the most diligently on her performance. It was her least favorite part. She would kiss his feet twice over in lieu of this…

He made her sing for him.

Every day, Beth dreaded it the most. Singing was her way to stay sane through all the shit she had to go through, and he stole it from her. He stole her one simple pleasure. Every note that escaped her lips caused fury to bubble up in her chest, burning hot.

Once he was finished with her hair, she stood up slowly to perform for him, but he cut her off. "No singing today."

Beth tried not to look relieved. She put on a confused look. "Why not? Don't you like my voice?"

"You know I do," he replied, smiling at her, "but I'm too busy today." And then, in a conspiratorial whisper, added, "Wedding preparations," with a wink.

She had to look away from him, so she turned her attention to the wedding dress on the armoire. Hopefully it looked like she was admiring it. "Our wedding cannot come soon enough," she told him. It may have been the first honest thing she ever said to him.

After kissing each of her hands, he left her alone for most of the day. With each passing hour she became more nervous. One way or another, this torture was ending tonight. She recognized that it could have been worse. He'd only hit her a handful of times, and never hard enough to leave a bruise that lasted more than a day or two. Sure, being around him was demeaning and sickening. And sure, she missed her prison family more than anything in the world. But she hadn't seen a walker since the funeral home, and her kidnapper probably would never kill her. Maybe she could grow to like him.

Stockholm syndrome. She'd read about it in some old book of her daddy's. She refused to fall victim to it. No, he may not have been horribly violent towards her. But she was still being held there against her will. She refused to spend the rest of her days in this dingy little bedroom. Beth was determined to be free, no matter what.

Eventually, there was a knock at the door. "Put your dress on, my love," came his voice from the other side.

For one last time, she made sure her weapon was still lodged in the mattress where she left it. Feeling it there, she took one deep breath and swung her legs off the bed. It took less than a minute to pull her clothes off and put the dress on. There wasn't even a mirror in the room to see herself in. "Ok, I'm ready!" She announced through the door.

He had on a tuxedo and a fresh haircut this time when he entered. He grabbed her hand and pulled her to the center of the room, performing the ceremony himself. When he got to his vows, his voice was pinched with real emotion. "You're never leaving me, my love. I won't let you. Not now that we found each other, despite all odds. And I vow to be the best husband to you, to guide you and teach you and allow you to follow my will, as your provider and lover."

Beth pretended to wipe a tear off her cheek and began reciting the words she had memorized days earlier. "I vow to be your loving wife and submit to your will, all the days of my life." Short, sweet, to the point. He seemed to enjoy it; there was a visible tear on his cheeks.

They both exchanged I Do's, and Beth allowed him to force a one-size-too-small ring on her finger. She leaned in first to initiate their kiss, figuring that would also give her the upper hand to pull away. It worked; their kiss was brief.

And then it was over. Beth was married.

She figured she'd have time to relax after the wedding bit. Don't most ceremonies precede a reception of some sort? Instead, however, she found him already leading her to the bed. A momentary look of horror flashed through her eyes. It was happening too fast, she wasn't ready. She was panicking. But he was too wrapped up in anticipation for what was about to happen that he didn't notice. "I love you so much," he told her, forcefully yanking down the zipper of her white dress.

The seam of the dress popped by how rough he unzipped it. The second it fell off of her, she removed herself completely from what was happening. Beth hid in a dark corner of her mind, silently willing it to be over quickly. Every noise he made fell on deaf ears, she could not bring herself to move with him at all. Still, he didn't notice.

When it was over and he rolled off of her, Beth's eyes continued to stare blankly up at the ceiling. It didn't take long before she was sure he was sound asleep. In that time, she had gone from feeling nothing, to remembering her anger. By the time his breath had slowed to a steady pace, her blood was bubbling so furiously in her veins that all she saw was red. Silently, she pushed her arm under the covers to the hole in the mattress where her weapon was waiting.

Beth didn't give herself time to hesitate. In one swift motion, she pulled the jagged spring up and flipped one leg over his hips so she was pinning him down.

He woke up instantly, but was too shocked and groggy to struggle against her. His look of surprise sent a wave of vindictive pleasure through her; she had played her part well. "But we love each other!" He said, truly confused and truly psychotic.

"Well, I hope this doesn't ruin the honeymoon," she snarled, lifting the knife higher in the air to build up momentum.

"Beth!" A familiar voice was calling to her. It sounded far away, as if it was shouted underwater. The world began to sway around her and she tried to focus at the task at hand. She had her captor pinned down. She had the knife. She had to finish him. "Beth! Stop!" The voice was closer now, becoming clearer. Her grip on the knife started to slip and she wondered when she got a knife; hadn't she just been using the whittled down bedspring as her weapon? Dizzy, she was so dizzy. She shook her head and clutched onto the knife, staring down at her captor. But his face was suddenly out of focus. He opened his mouth to speak, "Wake up, Beth!" Only it wasn't the kidnapper's voice that came out of the shifting features of his face. With one last head spinning rush of dizziness, the whole world swayed and changed around her. She was no longer in captivity, but at Terminus. Memories of killing the man who abducted her and escaping quickly came rushing back. "Wake up!" The voice repeated from below her. She looked down, mouth agape in horror.

"Daryl?" Her voice was weak. Confused and scared, Beth looked back and forth between Daryl, who she was pinning to the concrete floor, and the knife in her hand that was lifted, ready to strike.

Daryl was holding onto her arms, visibly relieved that she had come to.

Beth leaned back on her heels, still straddling Daryl. She allowed the knife to slip out of her hands and clamber to the ground. Tears sprung to her eyes as she scooted herself completely off of him. She continued scooting back, quickly, into the corner of the room. When she couldn't squeeze herself any smaller, she held her knees to her chest and buried her face in them.

After a moment of silent sobbing, Beth looked up at Daryl, who was still only half-propped up on the floor. He was staring at her. His eyes mirrored her confusion and fear. Without breaking eye contact, Daryl felt around on the floor until he found the knife, and stuffed it quickly back into its sheath in his belt.

She had been so sure she was still in captivity. So sure she was about to kill the man who took her. How had she even gotten Daryl's knife? How had she confused Daryl for her captor? Her throat had gone completely dry. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest. "What's happening to me?" She whispered, voice cracking, as tears continued to roll down her face.

* * *

**AN:**

_**Sway – The Perishers:**_

_**It was you who picked the pieces up**_  
_**When I was a broken soul**_  
_**And then glued me back together**_  
_**Returned to me what others stole**_

_**I don't wanna hurt you**_  
_**I don't wanna make you sway**_  
_**Like I know, I've done before**_  
_**I will not do it anymore**_  
_**I've always been a dreamer**_  
_**I've had my head among the clouds**_  
_**But now that I'm coming down**_  
_**Won't you be my solid ground?**_


	3. Set Fire to the Third Bar

**AN:_ I wanted to address one comment I received about the way Beth was flinching away from Daryl. First of all, thank you for your insight. For clarity's sake, I did intend it to come across as Beth having PTSD episodes, wherein it's not Daryl she's recoiling from; the things he said/did momentarily made her think she was back in captivity being touched by her kidnapper. The flinch was supposed to be a minor indication of that, as Beth's PTSD will continue being problematic. Again, thank you for your comment. I will be more cautious with things like that moving forward. I'm all about constructive criticism so please keep reviewing!_**

* * *

Beth looked so broken, crammed into the corner, holding her knees against her chest and rocking back and forth slowly. Watching her, every beat of Daryl's heart hurt his chest.

He'd heard her tossing and turning in her sleep and figured she was having a nightmare. Maybe he should've woken her up, but he didn't think much of it. After all, everyone had nightmares nowadays. He must have dozed off eventually because he didn't hear her get out of bed. He cursed himself for taking his belt off before lying down. If he had kept it on, he would've felt her take the knife out of its sheath. As it was, he didn't wake up until he felt her lay down next to him. That caused him to return to alertness with a jolt.

He looked down at her blonde hair resting on his chest. Beth was breathing steadily, deep asleep. A flutter of pleasure ran through him as he carefully wound his hand in her blonde hair. He had done the gentlemanly thing by not crawling into bed with her. She chose to snuggle up to him on the floor. He sure as hell wasn't about turn her away. It didn't take him long to fall back asleep with her against him.

The next thing he was aware of was the absence of her skin warming his chest and neck. Instead, there was strange weight pressing down on his hips. Still half-asleep, Daryl tried to push himself up, and found he was being pinned down, her small hand splayed against his chest and her legs straddling his hips. Either he was weak from sleep or Beth was surprisingly strong. Possibly both.

The skin on the back of his neck prickled. He hadn't found himself in this position with a woman since before the damn apocalypse. His breath came out in shallow gulps. It took him a moment to open his eyes. In his still half-asleep state, he imagined Beth leaning over him, their lips inches apart, big innocent eyes silently willing him to take her. His breath hitched.

When he finally did open his eyes, Daryl realized immediately that something was wrong. She was sitting up and staring down at him. Her teeth were bared, her eyes wide and manic, and she was holding his knife in her right hand menacingly.

Daryl's blood ran cold; he was instantly on red alert. "Whoa, Beth. What'r'ya doin', girl?" He asked, trying to sit up with a bit more force. He was able to sit up an inch off the ground before Beth pushed him back down, his back colliding painfully with the concrete. She raised the knife higher. "Beth, stop." Their eyes met, but Beth gave no signs of recognition. "Beth," he said, becoming more and more afraid, "it's me. Daryl. Let me go."

"Well, I hope this doesn't ruin the honeymoon," she said, finally speaking up.

He had no idea what she was talking about, but it became very clear that Beth was dreaming. Daryl raised his voice, "Beth!" He carefully grabbed onto the upper arm that was pinning him down and shook her gently, trying to wake her up. "Beth! Stop! Wake up, Beth! Wake up!"

The knife went slightly slack in her hand. For one terrifying moment, he watched her eyes roll back in her head. When she looked down at him, her eyes popped in recognition. The second the knife hit the floor, Daryl relaxed, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Daryl kept his eyes on her as he felt around for his knife, sheathed it, and pulled his belt back on. She looked so tiny with his poncho covering most of her body. It wasn't as funny as when he first saw her. This time, it was sad. It looked like she was trying to hide in it, bury herself in it.

He felt a chill creep over him, and realized it was due to the sudden lack of pressure on him, warming him. Guilt, shame, and self-disgust plagued him. Before he opened his eyes to find the knife clutched in Beth's hand, he thought she was coming onto him. He interpreted her PTSD episode as something romantic. He wanted to kick himself. Stupid Daryl Dixon. This was what happened when he let his guard down around her. It happened in the funeral home when he stupidly let the walkers in, and it happened again just now when he assumed he'd be enough to keep the nightmares away. "It was just a bad dream," he mumbled awkwardly. "Come on, don worry about it."

"Don't worry about it?" Beth sobbed from her corner, "Daryl, I almost killed you!"

"I was goin easy on ya, Greene. Think I coulda taken you if I really thought you were tryn ta kill me," he laughed, hoping it would break the tension in the room. It didn't.

Beth continued sniffling. "I thought you were him."

Daryl figured as much. "Well I ain't. He's gone. You're safe." He wanted to ask what she meant when she mentioned a honeymoon, but held his tongue. He didn't know what kinds of triggers would set her off. He continued watching her, cautiously. A few moments later, her small hand rose out from underneath the poncho to push her hair back behind her ears. A simple golden band on her ring finger caught the light from the window and shined in the room. Painful pangs shot through him as he put the pieces of what must have happened to her together. Pangs of anger. Pangs of jealousy. And pangs of anger at himself for feeling jealous. Again, he bit down the urge to ask her what happened.

He had to do something to stop thinking of her as if she was his. She wasn't his. She never would be his. He shouldn't be thinking of her in that way at all. It would only lead to disappointment and more self-loathing. It would just distract him from the only task that mattered nowadays: surviving. He had more important responsibilities than being at some blonde chick's beck-and-call.

Beth wiped under her eyes and took a shaky breath. "It just felt so real," she told him. "What if this happens again?"

Daryl just shrugged. "Maybe I should get Maggie," he said.

Beth shook her head. "No, I need you."

Hearing those words, something broke in Daryl. He could feel his self-sabotaging angry side bubble up, and did nothing to stop it. "You don't need me," he spat, making Beth's head jolt up to look at him, confused. "You need your sister, she's family. You don't need me. I ain't your family. Hell, you don't need me to survive. You escaped without me. You found your way here without me. You don't need me!" He continued to raise his voice until he was nearly shouting.

"What are you sayin, Daryl? After everything we been through-" she started.

Beth sounded weak and dejected in a way that hurt Daryl's heart and urged the self-sabotaging part of him on, so he cut her off. "You can survive without me." His raised voice dripped with vitriol.

"Fine, maybe I can survive without you. Maybe I don't need you. Maybe I just want you." Beth changed her tone. She no longer sounded meek; instead, her voice was rising to meet his. She was putting up a fight, not letting him push her away that easily.

"Well you shouldn't!" He was all out yelling now, "You ain't better off with me! I ain't good for you!"

"How can you say that?" She yelled back, both her hands lacing through her hair, clutching the sides of her head in frustration.

"BECAUSE I LOST YOU."

"I TOLD YOU NOT TO BLAME YOURSELF FOR THAT. IT WASN'T-"

Knowing what she was about to say, Daryl cut her off. "IT WAS MY FAULT, BETH! IT WAS MY FAULT. YOU WERE MY RESPONSIBILITY. I SHOULDA KEPT YOU SAFE AND I COULDN'T!"

"I THOUGHT YOU SAID I DIDN'T NEED YOU TO SURVIVE? IF I DON'T NEED YOU THEN WHY DO YOU FEEL RESPONSIBLE FOR ME?" She shouted back, blue eyes squinted in anger.

"BECAUSE!"

"BECAUSE WHY?"

"BECAUSE I'M IN-" Daryl stopped immediately, biting down so hard on his tongue he tasted blood. An eerie silence fell over the room. Beth's eyes turned to saucers and Daryl stared back as evenly as possible. He refused to break eye contact; it would look even more suspicious. Instead, he stared at her, both of their chests heaving. His mind was racing a million miles a second. What had he almost just said? How could that have almost just accidentally popped out like that? Daryl had never used that word before, least of all when it came to a woman. Least of all when he knew he was no good for that woman, that she deserved someone far better than him.

A few seconds ticked by and neither of them said anything. Daryl knew it was on him to brush over his slip of the tongue. He cleared his throat. "Because I'm sick of losin people," he spoke up finally. Beth's eyes narrowed in what looked like confused suspicion, but continued talking, "I'm sick of losing people so whether or not I think y'all can fend for yourselves, I'm gonna feel like it's my responsibility to keep you safe. Alright? And I couldn't do that with you and now look at ya, you're completely off your rocker."

Beth stared at him for a moment, expressionless. Then she pursed her lips, suddenly looking as if she was trying to hold back tears. "Is that what you really think? That I'm crazy?" She asked, her gaze falling to the floor.

If he were being honest, Daryl preferred that Beth chose to focus on him alluding to her losing it, instead of his earlier slip up. Still, his words had upset her; yet another twinge of guilt shot through him. "Nah," he said gently, "I think…" Daryl didn't know what he thought. He thought she experienced something traumatic. He wished he would've been able to save her from that. He thought she was beautiful. And strong. And scared. Mostly he thought about how he had to stop thinking about her. "I think ya need your sister," he concluded finally.

Beth's focus remained on the floor. She sighed, her shoulders rising and falling with her breath, and didn't reply. After a moment of silence, Daryl turned and walked out of the bedroom.

It didn't take him long to find Maggie in the dining room, sitting with Glenn. They were huddled together, both of their faces taut. Daryl had one guess as to what they were talking about.

"Maggie," he said, approaching them. "something's wrong with Beth."

Glenn didn't seem surprised at the mention of Beth's name, confirming Daryl's suspicion that they had been discussing the younger Greene. Maggie didn't seem shocked about Daryl's confession, either.

"I know." She said, looking up at Daryl. "She wasn't talkin' when I found her. Then she asked for you… I was hoping you'd be able to help."

Daryl shook his head. Of course he was no help. "I think she got PTSD. Woke me up this morning with a knife in her hand, thinking I was the monster that took her."

Maggie perked up at this, her eyebrows knitting together quizzically. "Wait, you spent the night with her?"

To his horror, Daryl felt his ears getting hot. "I slept on the floor," he mumbled, scratching at his beard awkwardly.

Maggie looked at him, head tilted to the side in a way that reminded him very much of her little sister, smirking just slightly. "What happened between you two after the prison?" She asked. It sounded more rhetorical than anything, so Daryl elected not to reply.

Instead, he changed the subject. "Look, I think maybe you should go talk to her. I was shit at tryin to help."

With a quick kiss to Glenn, Maggie got up from the table. She started walking towards Beth's room, but stopped after a few steps and turned on her heel back around. She approached Daryl. "For what it's worth," she said quietly, "you weren't shit at trying to help. Something tells me my baby sister wouldn't be alive right now at all if it weren't for you, Daryl Dixon."

Then she nodded, not allowing Daryl to reply, only allowing him to accept her words.

A hint of a grin appeared on the edges of Daryl's mouth, directed at Maggie's back. He was comforted by her words. He hoped that kind of pep talk would help Beth, as well. Glenn stood up, then, and slapped Daryl on the back. "She'll be fine, Daryl," he said.

And Daryl knew that was true, because dammit if she wasn't one of the strongest women he'd ever met. "Does anyone else know she's back?" Daryl asked.

"Nah, just you, me, and Maggie. Maggie figures Beth'll say when she's ready to see everyone."

"Yea she should tell 'em. She wouldn't want us telling everyone to walk on no eggshells around her," Daryl said.

Glenn looked at Daryl in the same quizzical way his wife had moments earlier. Daryl grimaced under Glenn's gaze, refusing to meet his eye. After a couple of seconds, Glenn smirked and slapped Daryl on the back again. This time he didn't say anything; he just left his hand on Daryl's shoulder for a moment and then walked past him, out of the room.

Daryl wasn't sure what to do now. He didn't want to go scavenging for food, not wanting to leave the camp in case something happened with Beth. He wondered if this was how it was going to be now, him always hyperaware of her presence, waiting for her to need him. Idly, he made his way to the upstairs lookout perch. It was more secluded from the rest of Terminus; it only overlooked the fenced in area, so there was rarely a need to man it. Still, it was one of Daryl's favorite places in the camp.

He took a quick sweep of the field once he was on the lookout perch. All clear. Then he stretched out on the only chair that fit on the balcony. He tried to think of anything other than Beth, but she kept creeping back into his thoughts. He thought about the way she felt curled against him in the night, before she almost stabbed him. He thought about how badly he wanted to be the one to keep her nightmares away. He thought about how he almost told her… well, there was one word he refused to even think, and it had almost popped out earlier.

He thought about how he was bad for her. He'd never be able to comfort her as well as her sister; he'd only ever screw her up more.

He wondered when he had unconsciously accepted his feelings for her.

He thought about how he'd have to get over her.

The cans that were hanging from the back fence clinked together, making Daryl sit up straighter in his chair. Thoughts of Beth were pushed to the backburner, for once. People were approaching in the distance. He stood up to get a better look. It was immediately clear that these were people, not walkers, based on their gaits. Two of them, by the looks of it.

As they came closer, he saw one of them holding something. An infant. All the breath was stolen from Daryl when they suddenly came into view enough for recognition.

Carol, Tyresse, and Judith were headed towards Terminus.

* * *

**AN:**

_**Set Fire to the Third Bar – Snow Patrol**_

_**I find the map and draw a straight line**_  
_**Over rivers, farms, and state lines**_  
_**The distance from 'A' to where you'd be**_  
_**It's only finger-lengths that I see**_  
_**I touch the place where I'd find your face**_  
_**My fingers in creases of distant dark places**_

_**I hang my coat up in the first bar**_  
_**There is no peace that I've found so far**_  
_**The laughter penetrates my silence**_  
_**As drunken men find flaws in science**_

_**Their words mostly noises**_  
_**Ghosts with just voices**_  
_**Your words in my memory**_  
_**Are like music to me**_

_**I'm miles from where you are,**_  
_**I lay down on the cold ground**_  
_**I, I pray that something picks me up**_  
_**And sets me down in your warm arms**_

_**After I have travelled so far**_  
_**We'd set the fire to the third bar**_  
_**We'd share each other like an island**_  
_**Until exhausted, close our eyelids**_  
_**And dreaming, pick up from**_  
_**The last place we left off**_  
_**Your soft skin is weeping**_  
_**A joy you can't keep in**_


End file.
